


It's The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year

by stevergrsno (noxlunate)



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bearded Steve Rogers, Beefy Bucky Barnes, Bottom Steve Rogers, Competition, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Holidays, M/M, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Ugly Holiday Sweaters, though really it's more competitive assholes to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 06:20:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17156840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxlunate/pseuds/stevergrsno
Summary: “You should come over for a drink.” Christmas Stealing Hot Neighbor says instead of answering Steve’s very valid question.“I really don’t think I should. Sounds like fraternizing with the enemy.” Steve says, even as he’s abandoning his tree and moving towards the gate.“Look at is as a know thy enemy thing instead,” Christmas Stealing Hot Neighbor says before flashing Steve a smile andoh, oh no,Steve is screwed.Aka Steve Rogers is competitive, Bucky Barnes is into his hot new neighbor, and Christmas Feelings ensue.





	It's The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Born_To_Be_Wilde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Born_To_Be_Wilde/gifts).



> GETTING THIS UP JUST IN THE KNICK OF TIME TO STILL BE A CHRISTMAS FIC. 
> 
> Thank you twitter for letting me bitch/talk about this while drunk on tequila and for answering my poll on whether beefy Steve is Top Or Bottom. This didn’t turn into as much porn as I wanted it to, but your answers were invaluable.
> 
> To my secret santa recipient: I wasn’t quite sure what to write you so you got the depths of my id and I hope you happen to enjoy it! Happy holidays!

 

Steve’s new neighbor is the _absolute worst._ He blocks Steve’s driveway on a regular basis, outdid him at Halloween decorations, and is now attempting to steal Steve’s spot as the best house on the block for _Christmas._

It’s unforgivable. No amount of running in extremely weather inappropriate clothing can make up for it.

“Yeah man, I know, you’ve told me this before,” Sam says as he roots around in Steve’s fridge for a beer, “Why don’t you just, I don’t know, talk to him like a rational human being. Or maybe not take everything as a massive competition? Maybe the guy just likes to be a little festive.”

“ _Me_? Take things as a _competition_? I have no idea what you mean,” Steve says, feeling like he’s really nailing the epitome of innocence thing as he reaches past Sam for a beer.

 

An hour later Steve and Sam have absconded to Steve’s patio with their beers. The patio is less a patio than it is a front stoop, but it fits two outdoor chairs and serves the perfect purpose of allowing Steve and Sam to not at all subtly spy on Steve’s mortal enemy as he winds lights around a tree.

When Christmas Stealing Hot Neighbor is finished with the tree he starts hanging oversized ornaments from it’s branches, but not before shooting Steve a smirk.

_Asshole._

Sam, who has been mercilessly mocking Steve for his state of dismay, _finally_ takes notice of the severity of the situation. Or maybe he just takes pity on Steve. Either way, this manifests in him getting to his feet with a firm “Alright, we’re going out to buy more decorations.”

 

Steve sinks a couple hundred bucks into Christmas decorations and absolutely does not feel ashamed.

Okay, he maybe feels a little bit ashamed, but when he sees Christmas Stealing Hot Neighbor take in Steve’s yard with a frown the next morning it’s all worth it.

Steve raises his coffee cup in a salute across the street and walks back inside humming.

 

When he comes home from work things have escalated. Christmas Stealing Hot Neighbor has added a reindeer pulled sleigh to his roof, a collection of inflatables to his yard, and the lights on his fence have at least doubled.

 

Steve doubles down. He orders a few things with overnight delivery. He checks _pinterest._ He’s going to _win_ this (possibly self inflicted) Christmas challenge he has going with Christmas Stealing Hot Neighbor. He _will_ be victorious.

 

**❄❄❄**

 

Hot Neighbor Steve - whose name Bucky only knows because his next door neighbor is a 75 year old gossip who likes to perv on Hot Neighbor Steve from Bucky’s window because it ‘offers a better vantage point’- is getting to be a problem.

Mostly because Hot Neighbor Steve has somehow managed to get Bucky to spend roughly five times his budget for Christmas decorations through what seems to be spiteful competitiveness.

Bucky absolutely doesn’t want to be into it. There’s something weirdly charming about watching a dude who looks like a cross between a well meaning frat boy and a midwestern school teacher continuously amp up their Christmas decorations to outdo Bucky’s though.

Eventually however, it has to reach a breaking point.

“James, you have to do something about this,” Natasha tells him after Bucky sends her a picture of Hot Neighbor Steve decorating yet another Christmas tree in his lawn. He’s wearing _khakis._ Bucky’s sure it should be a turn off, and yet here he is making sure to zoom in on Hot Neighbor Steve’s ass in them so that Natasha can feel his pain.

“I don’t think I can just go over and take his unfortunate choice in pants off of him Nat, that’d be inappropriate,” Bucky says mostly just to be difficult, but also because well, it _would be,_ even if the idea is very tempting. Bucky’s lived in this house since the beginning of October and his plight over Hot Neighbor Steve has just been getting worse and worse.

“Don’t make me come over there and handle this for you,” Natasha warns and she sounds serious enough that Bucky huffs a little and abandons his post peeking out his blinds.

“ _Fine._ I’ll handle it. I’d like to state for the record however that you’re a bully and I deeply regret our friendship.”

 

**❄❄❄**

 

The thing about Christmas Stealing Hot Neighbor is that Steve hasn’t ever even _met_ the guy. At least not officially. Not unless getting cut off by the asshole and exchanging some honking and very rude gestures over it counted as meeting. Now, however, their rivalry has been _set in stone._ They are _Christmas_ _enemies._ Steve will take this fight to his _grave._

The whole never having met in person despite being _mortal enemies_ means that when Christmas Stealing Hot Neighbor crosses the street, leans against Steve’s fence and says “Howdy neighbor,” Steve is maybe, just possibly, a little shocked by how _nice_ his voice sounds.

“Uh, hi?” Steve says, fiddling with a box of ornaments for the newest Christmas tree he’s erecting in his yard.

There’s definitely not something else being erected when Christmas Stealing Hot Neighbor gives him a very blatant look up and down from across the fence.  

“You realize this isn’t a competition, right?” Christmas Stealing Hot Neighbor asks when his eyes have finally made their way back up to Steve’s face. Steve does _not_ preen a little bit when they seem to get stuck at Steve’s shoulders. Steve’s been working on his shoulders lately and putting up with Sam bitching that if he gets any bigger they’re going to have a serious talk about Steve’s life choices, so it’s nice to feel appreciated.

“Right, so you’re not trying to beat me then?” Steve asks, shooting a pointed look at Christmas Stealing Hot Neighbor’s yard where a little flock of christmas light deer have taken up residence since this morning.

“You should come over for a drink.” Christmas Stealing Hot Neighbor says instead of answering Steve’s very valid question.

“I really don’t think I should. Sounds like fraternizing with the enemy.” Steve says, even as he’s abandoning his tree and moving towards the gate.

“Look at is as a know thy enemy thing instead,” Christmas Stealing Hot Neighbor says before flashing Steve a smile and oh, _oh no,_ Steve is screwed.

 

**❄❄❄**

 

There’s a problem that Bucky hadn’t foreseen in his sudden Natasha inspired bravery to ask Hot Neighbor Steve over for a drink. That problem being that Hot Neighbor Steve would be _in_ Bucky’s house and Bucky would _actually_ have to make conversation with him.

Oh god, this was a horrible plan and like many things in Bucky’s life he’s choosing to blame Natasha entirely. He takes an extra thirty seconds of hiding in his kitchen to text _‘this is horrible and definitely all your fault’_ to her along with a sneakily captured picture of Steve looking like he could be at home on the defensive lineup of a midwestern football team. He gets back a whole paragraph of laughing crying emojis, six eggplant emojis, a corn cob and a wine bottle with it’s cork being popped. He feels like he has some vague idea of what she means but to be entirely honest he’s not completely sure.

After scowling at his phone for longer than is entirely necessary he gets himself together, throws two drinks together because his stupid ass had mentioned drinks and then emerges to Hot Neighbor Steve on his couch, wrapped up like a ridiculously proportioned piece of meat in a too tight sweater. How does he think that’s his size? _Who lets him leave his house like that?_   

“Do you not know what your size is?” He asks before the shrieking dial-up sounding noise in his brain has a chance to stop him.

“Uh, yes?” Steve’s looking at Bucky like Bucky assumes he’d look at some crazy person on the street, which, okay, _fair_.  

“Really? Because _that_ doesn't exactly point to a working knowledge of how clothes fit.” Bucky gestures helplessly to Steve’s… everything. Sure, the sweater has the bonus of being so tight that Bucky has the undeniable urge to bury his face in Steve’s chest and there’s an uncomfortable voice deep down that whispers _‘sweater kittens’_ but all of _that_ can’t be appropriate for daily life, it just _can’t._

Steve shifts in place and for a moment Bucky’s terrified he just made him uncomfortable, but then he does a thing with that stupid jaw of his that makes him look defiant and like he’s daring Bucky to argue and says “I like the way it fits.”

And okay, yeah, _so does Bucky._ So does probably half the state. So do the astronauts that can see his stupid gleaming gold hair and sweater kittens- _pecs_ from space. That’s not the point.

“I’d like it better on the floor.” Bucky blurts, which is _also not the point._

There’s a beat of silence in which neither of them seems to know what to say then Bucky shoves one of the drinks into Steve’s hands, says “Try it, it’s good!” and downs three quarters of his own drink in hopes that they can move past Bucky using the absolute worst pick up line in the world.

Steve, because he’s apparently just as much of a saint as he looks, lets Bucky do this.

Bucky bets he climbs trees to rescue kittens too, _goddammit._

 

**❄❄❄**

 

Bucky has a home that is festive and cozy, can make some sort of mixed drink that tastes exactly like a candy apple but left Steve drunk off his ass, is weirdly and adorably charming, and has thighs that would be put to much better use around Steve’s face.

“Oh, _no,”_ Steve says mournfully into the phone as he half heartedly attempts to decorate the outside of his house with giant red Christmas bows and wholeheartedly keeps glancing across the street to watch for Hot Neighbor Bucky.

“Is this about your neighbor?” Sam asks, because Sam has been putting up with Steve’s shit for long enough that he knows exactly what Steve’s moaning about. He probably saw this coming a mile away, the asshole.

“Yes,” Steve says sullenly, watching as Bucky wanders onto his porch with a cup of coffee and then _stretches._ “ _Oh no.”_

“Is this an oh no you want to fuck him, or an oh no this is college all over again and I’m gonna have to deal with a few months of pining then 4 months of your ass in a blissful relationship naming all ten of your future children followed by six months of heartbreak?”

“I did _not_ name our children. And Peggy was an exchange student. There was always a time limit on that one. Bucky has a _mortgage_ , so theoretically I can pine for however long I want.”

“‘Susan Carter-Rogers, bro, because _of course_ Peg would want to hyphenate,’” Sam says in his College Steve voice. Sam insists it’s a spot on imitation. Steve thinks it’s not at all accurate and that he didn’t sound like nearly as much of a frat bro back then. “And sure, theoretically you can pine, but theoretically I can get sick of it and kill you.”

“You wouldn’t do that, I’m your best friend.”

“Eh, I’m charming, I can make a new best friend.”

“Yeah but think of the time that would take,” Steve says, a little distracted when Bucky notices him and waves from across the street.

“True. It’s easier to keep your ass around.” Sam says before breaking off into muttering and furious horn honking at the exact moment Neighbor Bucky crosses the street and comes to a stop leaning against Steve’s fence.

He looks _really_ good leaning there. Nice thighs. Nice arms. _Steve_ has good arms. Sam’s girlfriend once got exceedingly drunk and groped them while telling him so. He crosses them in front of his chest in what is definitely not an effort to show off just how nice his arms are, then remembers that _shit,_ he’s still got his phone in his hand and Sam on the line.

He presses his phone to his ear, gets out a quick “Sorry, gotta go, talk to you later,” and hangs up on Sam saying something about “Oh hell no, this is a serious breach of the bro code, Rogers,” that he will definitely hear about later.

“Hidey ho neighbor,” Bucky says, leaning an elbow on one of Steve’s fence posts. His very existence is a lot more attractive than he has any right to be.

“Hi,” Steve says and mentally applauds himself for getting even one word out when faced with Bucky in front of him, his hair still looking like he just rolled out of bed and got into a fight with a raccoon while doing so.

Also, Bucky’s nose is a little pink in the cold.

Steve wants to bite it.

“Girlfriend?” Bucky asks, gesturing to Steve’s phone and Steve’s not sure if he’s just fooling himself or not but it seems like there’s a little more than polite curiosity in his question.

“No!” Steve says, a little too quickly, and then, “No, no, definitely not. Sam’s just a friend. My best friend, but still, just a friend. No girlfriend. Or boyfriend. Or anything, really.”

“Good,” Bucky says and oh, _oh no,_ he’s smiling. Steve’s going to _die._ “That means you can say yes when I ask you over for dinner.”

 

**❄❄❄**

 

When Steve shows up for dinner he’s in a sweater with a tacky Christmas tree on it, clearly hasn’t shaved in a few days, and is carrying a bottle of wine.

Bucky doesn’t let Steve reach the living room before he kisses him.

There’s a moment, brief and fleeting where he thinks ‘ _oh shit maybe I read this wrong’_ but when Steve’s big hands are hot and heavy on Bucky’s hips and Bucky finds his back making a very strong acquaintance with his wall.

There’s a picture frame digging into his shoulder, but honestly there are _much more_ important things than that to focus on right now. More important things that involve wrapping his legs around Steve’s stupid dorito waist and _living there._

“Wait,” Steve says, and Bucky jerks back hard enough the back of his head smashes into the wall, “Was ‘come over to dinner’ some sort of code?”

“No,” Bucky says quickly, “Not a code, definitely not a code. When I said come to dinner I actually _meant_ come to dinner.”

“Oh good. I didn’t want you thinking I was that kind of girl,” Steve teases with a grin, and then turns turns and _carries_ Bucky towards the couch and oh _god,_ if Bucky’s brain wasn’t melting before it’s certainly doing it now. Bucky’s not even close to being a _small_ guy but Steve tosses him onto his couch like he’s nothing.

_Jesus._

“Oh my god. What. Do you bench press cars for a living? Toss around barrels of hay? Rescue whole families from burning buildings?”

Steve stares like Bucky’s something fascinating and confusing but _good._ It makes Bucky hook his fingers into Steve’s belt loops and drag him forward.

“Nah, I teach kindergarten.” Steve says, because _of course_ he does. Nothing has ever made more sense in Bucky’s _life._

“Holy shit, of course you do,” Bucky says, and then “I kinda want to suck your dick.”

“Only kinda?”

“Anyone ever tell you fishing for compliments isn’t attractive?” Bucky asks, shoving Steve’s tacky sweater up and pressing his lips against bare skin. He has an image of someone washing laundry on Steve’s abs that is incongruent with the situation at hand and entirely unwelcome in this instance.

“You don’t exactly seem disgusted.”

“I am. I’m just a phenomenally good actor.” Bucky says and bites down on a particularly interesting spot on Steve’s hip, grinning at the intake of breath and the jerk of muscles beneath his hands.

Steve has no answer to that, though Bucky assumes it’s due to the fact that he’s too busy making a sort of ‘nghhhh’ noise when Bucky finally gets a hand down Steve’s pants and around his dick.

 

**❄❄❄**

 

“So, he blew you and then what?” Sharon asks in the teacher’s lounge Monday.

“And then we ate dinner,” Steve says, stealing a bite of Sharon’s Lean Cuisine and almost getting stabbed with a plastic fork in the process.

“Don’t give me that shit Rogers. I spend 85% of my life with 6 year olds. The juiciest things I hear about are what happened to Ladybug recently. _Give me my gossip.”_

“I’m serious. He blew me, I jerked him off, and then we ate dinner and talked. It was like a normal first date, but in reverse.”

“That’s too wholesome for a story that started with a blowjob.” Sharon complains and shoves a bite of her microwave meal into her mouth mutinously.

“What can I say? I’m a wholesome guy.” Steve says and then pretends to be offended when Sharon laughs in his face.

 

Bucky texts Steve while he’s on his turn supervising afternoon recess.

There’s a picture of a box, a Christmas light train depicted on the front, and the caption ‘ _Come put it together with me tonight? I’ll buy you dinner and make it worth your while.’_  

Steve doesn’t smile stupidly at his phone. He _doesn’t._

 _‘That sounds an awful lot like aiding the enemy.’_ Steve texts back.

_‘Haven’t you heard Steve? Forbidden romance is hot.’_

 

**❄❄❄**

 

Steve comes over for dinner. He helps Bucky put up more decorations, eats an entire pizza and then blows Bucky until he can’t see straight.

Then he comes over the next day.

And the day after that.

Until he’s texting Bucky one morning to say _‘Gonna be busy for a couple days. Last week before break!’_ and Bucky’s left trying to figure out what to do with a few Steve free days.

“It’s _ridiculous.”_ He complains to Natasha as they waste their day stumbling along on a Santa themed bar crawl. Bucky’s starting to think they _might_ be getting too old to day drink with a bunch of other people dressed as Santa, but you can’t argue with tradition.

“You’re ridiculous,” Natasha says as they stumble into the next bar. Well. Bucky stumbles. Natasha’s steady on her heels like this isn’t the 4th bar of the afternoon. “Send him a picture of you in your sexy Santa getup and I bet he’ll change his tune.”

It’s hard to tell if it’s genuine advice or if Natasha wants to goad him into doing something she can mock him for later. The possibility that it’s _both_ also bears some thought.

“I don’t think I trust your advice,” Bucky says, giving Natasha a suspicious look while she steers him into a seat at the bar. The place is loud and crowded, but Natasha wields sharp elbows and also, possibly, Bucky suspects, a shank so she gets them seats with an ease that Bucky always misses when he goes somewhere without her.

“That’s because you’re paranoid. I like that about you,” Natasha says, and then “Hand me your phone. I’ll take the picture.”

Which is how Bucky Barnes ends up sending Steve Rogers a picture of himself dressed in fur trimmed red booty shorts and a Santa hat.

  

When Bucky wakes up his mouth tastes like ass and apple vodka and Natasha is snoring and taking up roughly 96% of Bucky’s bed. Which is of course how Bucky ends up flat on his ass on the ground when he reaches for his phone on automatic and Natasha’s feet plant themselves firmly against him and _kick._

“It’s my bed,” He mournfully tells his ceiling, “ _My_ bed. _Mine.”_

And then he swipes his phone open and oh. _Oh._ Oh _god._ The _picture._

“I hate you,” Bucky tells his ceiling and also Natasha. And also himself.

“Oh god, I forgot how bad your vodka hangovers are.” Natasha says and throws a pillow at him.

Bucky lets it smack him in the face, wiggles until it falls off and turns his attention back to his phone.

The picture is still there. Bucky in all his drunken, booty short wearing glory. Unlike when Bucky had last checked his phone however, there’s a string of messages after.

 **_STEVE_ ** _: Oh. God._

 **_STEVE_ ** _: Definitely the only Santa I want to see coming down my chimney...’_

 **_STEVE_ ** _: Are you having fun?’_

Because of course Steve is more concerned with Bucky having fun than Bucky’s Christmas Thot outfit. _Of course._

 **_BUCKY_ ** _: My friend Natasha convinced me to drink green apple vodka, took that picture, and stole my bed._

 **BUCKY** : _it was fun though. Always is._

Steve’s response is almost suspiciously fast.

 **_STEVE_ ** _: Sounds like a good tradition_

 **_STEVE_ ** _: So, does that mean you dress as slutty santa every year?_

 **_STEVE_ ** _: Are there other pictures?_

 **_STEVE_ ** _: We need to compare._

 **_STEVE_ ** _: For science._

 **_BUCKY_ ** _: Uh-huh. JUST for science…._

 **_STEVE_ ** _: I AM an academic afterall._

 **_BUCKY_ ** _: Academic????_

 **_BUCKY_ ** _: You teach five year olds…_

 **_STEVE_ ** _: They’re very advanced five year olds._

 _“Oh,”_ Natasha’s voice interrupts, dragging Bucky’s attention from his phone and onto her head peeking off the side of the bed, a riot of red hair and yesterday’s makeup.

“ _Oh?_ What do you mean ‘ _oh’?_ You can’t just _oh_ me and not explain Natalia _”_

“Don’t me dramatic James,” Natasha says and then, “And I meant _oh_ that’s a feelings face. _Oh_ you _like him.”_

Bucky squints up at her, using his best judgemental expression on his best friend. He’s heard he’s pretty good at judgemental. Unfortunately Natasha has never been effected by judgement in her life.

“Your face’ll stick like that if you’re not careful, and then how will you get Steve to suck your dick again?”  

 

**❄❄❄**

 

Steve spends an entire day sleeping and doing nothing but watching stupid Christmas movies when break starts.

The second day he invites Bucky to join him.

“So this is how you spend your vacation?” Bucky asks when they’re well into the third movie in their Christmas Romances So Bad They’re Good marathon. A city girl is in a small town being wooed by a snarky townsperson. It is exactly like 50 other Christmas romance movies and Steve loves it anyway.

“More or less,” Steve’s pretty sure he doesn’t usually spend it _quite_ like this, with his head on Bucky’s shoulder and Bucky’s hand in Steve’s hair, occasionally wandering down to scratch into the side of his beard in a way that makes Steve melt into a puddle on his couch, but the gist is there. “There’s usually a little less company.”

“Mmmh, so I’m getting to participate in a Steve Rogers solo tradition. I guess I must be special.” Bucky says, light and easy.

“Yeah,” Steve says, and then “You’re something special, Buck.” And god, it comes out a little too earnest for just how short a time they’ve been doing whatever this is, so he shifts up, swinging a leg over to straddle Bucky and drags him into a kiss.

❄❄❄

Christmas Eve shows up with the sort of half a breath stuck in your throat anticipation _holy-shit-did-I-get-everything_ feeling that Bucky’s been used to it having since he hit adulthood and it stopped being a night where he passed out wondering what he’d get in the morning and started being a time where he ended up perpetually worried about whether or not he’d gotten his nieces and nephews the right gifts.

This year it comes with another source of breathlessness. That source being Steve Rogers.

His sweater has a corgi on it and is at least one size too small.

He’s wearing a _santa hat._

Bucky _wants._

Which is good, Bucky thinks as they fall into Bucky’s bed with enough force that the frame makes a vaguely ominous noise beneath their combined bodyweight, because Steve _also_ seems to want.

Bucky leans back on his haunches and takes him in, spread out across Bucky’s bed. Steve’s hat has been knocked off _somewhere_ and his hair is mussed, his sweater riding up and a flush creeping along his skin.

“Well would you look at that. Fuckin gorgeous is what that is.” Bucky says, sliding  hand up Steve’s stomach and rucking his ridiculous sweater up even further.

Steve makes a noise a little like he’s dying and Bucky feels like something’s caught up under his ribs, something warm and delighted and tied entirely to Steve.

Merry fucking Christmas, their dicks aren’t even out yet and Bucky’s _already_ screwed when it comes to this asshole.

“C’mere,” Steve says, legs falling open for Bucky to settle between as Steve drags him forward.

“Hi,” Bucky says like a damn idiot.

“Hi,” Steve says back, because apparently he’s just as big an idiot as Bucky is here.

Then one of them closes the distance and they’re kissing again, like they had in Bucky’s bedroom doorway, and the kitchen before that, and the living room before _that._ Bucky doesn’t think he’s enjoyed making out with someone this much since high school when everything was something new to be explored.

Kissing Steve isn’t quite like kissing anyone else though. He seems to approach it like he had competing against Bucky, which is to say he dives head first into it with no reservations and gives it an almost single minded focus. It’s a little like being hit with a truck, but in a good way.

“We should get you naked,” Steve says when he’s apparently decided that worrying at Bucky’s jaw is a better subject for his attentions than Bucky’s mouth.

“We should get _you_ naked,” Bucky says back, “Your clothes are offending me.”

“Rude,” Steve says, biting at Bucky’s jaw like the vicious little asshole Bucky’s starting to figure out he is. He follows it up by leaning backwards and shimmying out of both his pants and his ridiculous sweater though, so Bucky’s pretty sure he’s okay with it.

(Bucky would be okay with it even if Steve hadn’t gotten naked after, honestly.)

Bucky pulls back to take a long slow look at Steve- “What the fuck are these?” He asks, snapping the waistband of Steve’s underwear. They’re fucking tiny and say _‘Kiss me under the mistletoe.’_ Bucky’s not quite sure whether he wants to laugh hysterically or follow their orders.

“Fuck you, I bet you ten bucks you’re wearing the booty shorts under these,” Steve says, going for Bucky’s fly while Bucky strips out of his shirt.

“I can neither confirm nor deny,” Bucky says innocently, rolling with the momentum as Steve flips them over until he’s on top of Bucky, “You seemed to like them though.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny,” Steve parrots back, huffing at Bucky’s button fly, “How the fuck are your pants this difficult to get off?”

“Certain sacrifices must be made to have such a great ass in jeans, Steve,” Bucky says very seriously at the same moment Steve makes a victorious noise and drags his pants down and off of him.

“A-ha! I knew it!” Steve crows and then kisses Bucky’s dick right through the bright red fabric and makes Bucky jerk.

“Well, hello there pal,” Steve says right to Bucky’s dick and Bucky laughs so hard he almost knees Steve right in the face.

“Holy shit, you’re a fucking idiot.” Bucky says with not a little bit of awe, cuffing a hand to Steve’s head.

“Hey, I’m not the one about to fuck an idiot here.”

“Oh, is that what we’re doing here then?” Bucky asks, only half joking around. They hadn’t exactly discussed how this was going to work before doing the whole ‘falling into bed’ thing.

“Yeah, Buck, I want you to fuck me.” And really, how is Bucky supposed to say no to that.

 

Bucky works Steve open slow and easy.

“I’m not delicate,” Steve complains when Bucky’s apparently spent what Steve deems as _‘too long’_ with one finger in his ass.

Bucky curves his other hand over Steve’s waist, grins and says “I don’t know, this seems pretty delicate,” and Steve knocks his foot against Bucky’s thigh in retaliation.

“I change my mind. I probably shouldn’t have sex with an asshole, doesn’t-doesn’t seem like the kind of thing a stand-up guy like me should do,” Steve says, though it goes more than a little breathy when Bucky adds another finger and twists.

“I can be nice if you want,” Bucky says, twisting, searching, until Steve goes tight like a bowstring and presses back against Bucky’s hand.

“Really?” Bucky thinks Steve might be going for disbelieving, but it falls a little short.

“Mmhmm. I can be _real_ nice, sweetheart. Make you feel real good. Tell you exactly how good you look like this, spread out on my bed for me. How much I’ve wanted to get you under me since I moved in and saw you for the first time.”

Bucky’s been told before that he can get a little _too_ chatty in bed, but Steve doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, Steve seems to _like it,_ grabbing at Bucky’s shoulders and pulling him up towards him, slotting their mouths together in a hard kiss.  

“ _Jesus_. You should definitely fuck me now.”

Bucky’s pretty sure he both finds and gets a condom on in record time. If there was an olympic competition for this kind of thing Bucky definitely thinks he might have a good shot at going for gold. Then again, a gold medal might not be quite the motivation that Steve watching impatiently in Bucky’s bed is.

It’s no time at all and also a goddamn eternity before Bucky’s kneeling over Steve, Steve’s legs wrapped around his waist as he pushes in. He takes his time about it, because this might be the first time he’s actually fucking Steve, but he knows from the amount of fooling around they’ve done lately that Steve both loves and hates when Bucky makes him take it slow.

“C’mon, c’mon,” Steve gasps, arching up, and then, “God- That’s. Good. That’s good,” when Bucky’s buried in deep.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Now _move_ ,” And really, how can Bucky do anything but _?_

 

“You wanna come with me to New Years? There’s a few people I’d like you to meet.” Bucky says sometime later when they’re tangled up in the sheets and each other, Steve’s big broad hands stroking strong and sure up Bucky’s back.

“As your date?” Steve asks, hands stilling.

“Yeah Steve, as my date. You got a problem with that?”

“I don’t know, I might have to think about it. Sounds like a big commitment. We _are_ in a highly important competition against each other you know? That’s already commitment enough.” Steve teases and Bucky shoves his knuckles into the spot under his ribs and bites down on his shoulder all at once in retaliation.

Steve lets out a very interesting noise that bears further exploration at a later date.

“Now you get no choice. You’re now my date whether you like it or not. We’re dating.”

“Oh good, because that’s not at all what we’ve been doing for the past couple weeks or anything.”

“Nope. That was wooing. Did it work?”

Steve laughs, pressing his face into Bucky’s throat, “Yeah. Yeah, Buck, it did.”


End file.
